Read Online Lamarchos by Jo Clayton - Free Book Online

her feet ached from the cold, damp grass. Sighing, she trudged up the steps and dropped on the bed. Resting one ankle on her knee, she wiped the cold, gritty mud off with a piece of rag. When she finished the second foot, she sat lumpishly on the bed, staring into the dark.
    The baby stirred in his blankets and gave a tentative whimper.
    â€œSharli-mi, Baby-mi,” she crooned, bending over him. She lifted him to her breast and rocked him for a little while she scrubbed an edge of the blanket over her nipples. Then she let him suck.
    â€œMy son,” she murmured, suddenly filled with a blissful contentment. “My little one. You’re getting so big. So big and strong. You’ll be a fine man one day, Sharl-mi. Without the twist your mother suffers from. A fine, strong man. Like your father. Ah god, baby, be like your father.…” She sighed and settled back, the baby warm across her body.
    The hours passed. Somehow. Sharl went back in his bed, sleeping the deep, placid sleep of contentment and a full belly. Aleytys pulled the quilt around her and huddled unhappily, waiting for Stavver to return. If he chose to return.
    The caravan creaked and swayed as he came up the stairs. He pulled the curtain aside, hesitated, then stepped into the caravan. “Leyta?”
    â€œHere, Miks.”
    â€œGeod.” He dropped beside her shivering as much from over-stimulated nerves as from the night cold. “I’m a fool,” he muttered.
    â€œI think so too.” She touched his cheek. “You’re freezing. Come under the quilt with me.”
    He hesitated, passed shaking hands over his face.
    â€œIsn’t it time to stop acting like a boy? You’re a man.”
    â€œWhat’s a man?” With a deep groan, he stretched out beside her, letting the quilt fall over him. He pulled her into his arms. “I never thought maturity would be so complicated.” Relaxing against her soft warm body, he let the dregs of resentment wash out of him.

Chapter VII
    Aleytys stroked her hand over Olelo’s soft, russet fur as he cuddled against her, watching Stavver smother the fire with a shovel full of sandy dirt. Behind her the orange sun was a fat pimple on the horizon, throwing extravagantly elongated shadows that flickered in a stilting dance behind Loahn and Kale as they buckled harnesses on side-stepping, restless horses and backed them over the wagon tongues.
    Maissa came walking with short tense steps over the top of a knoll. Halfway down, a dozen paces away from the campsite, she stopped abruptly, her face crumpled in a bad-tempered scowl.
    Aleytys sighed. The omens pointed to a bloody-minded confrontation when she informed Maissa that their plans had to be changed. She hesitated, reluctant to precipitate the conflict, then took a deep breath and called, “Leyilli.”
    Maissa whipped her head around, the scowl deepening as she focused on Aleytys. She jolted downhill, kicking viciously at the cold wet grass. When she reached the level ground of the campsite, she halted, shivering, arms crossed over her bare breasts. There was a drawn look to her face and her skin humped in blue-tinted gooseflesh. “What do you want?”
    Aleytys glanced at Loahn then lowered her eyes, let her shoulders droop, minimizing her own personality to offer less abrasive challenge to Maissa’s hypersensitivity. “The pariah boy,” she said softly. “We have to take him back to his people.”
    Maissa hissed and took a short step backward, coming up on her toes like a snake poised to strike. “So?”
    â€œHe has to be put right with them.”
    â€œWe stick our fingers in the fire for that?” Trembling from anger and cold she jerked a thumb at the watching boy.
    â€œIf you want peace and quiet, we take the boy back. Unless he’s put right with them, we’re all in trouble.”
    Maissa’s nostrils flared. “Put a knife through his throat, put him